


xoxo Storybrooke Sleuth

by Hoovahhoopah, strangesmallbard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen, crack!fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:45:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1466530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoovahhoopah/pseuds/Hoovahhoopah, https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangesmallbard/pseuds/strangesmallbard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPOTTED: S and C in a tiff outside the illustrious The Rabbit Hole. Seems like C got a little too rambunctiously rowdy with some of S's pint-sized pals. You know you love me, Storybrooke Sleuth.</p><p>Someone's been watching too much Gossip Girl. And someone started a shitty knock off blog. And thus Storybrooke Sleuth was born.</p>
            </blockquote>





	xoxo Storybrooke Sleuth

**Author's Note:**

> The purest form of crack you've ever encountered. Welcome. Written by Steph and myself. And if you're wondering about August's laptop, just go google orange iBook. Remember those?

Emma is perched on her usual stool, cocoa in hand. It’s still early, before noon, but after the school bell, and it is blissfully peaceful in the diner. Well. Save for August in the corner with his typewriter. And his super vintage iBook. In orange. Emma is surprised it even works. There’s even a slightly ripped sticker on the front with a Robert Frost quote, like something a beatnik teenager would have.

 _Beatnik?_  Wow this town is  _really_  starting to get to her.

Ruby is giggling at something on her teeny iPad and Emma looks up from her stupid emoji iMessage thread with Regina, “What?” 

“This blog, the link appeared in my inbox this morning from [storybrookesleuth@literaryminds.org](mailto:storybrookesleuth@literaryminds.org), it’s awesome. Check it out. Storybrook Sleuth. storybrooksleuth.blogger.com.”

Emma quirks a brow and struggles with changing her app. Goddamn ios 7. She clicks the email icon and sure enough, there’s  _storybrookesleuth’s_  email waiting for her. The subject is  _Who Am I?_ and Emma wonders if it’s a Les Mis reference. She doesn’t remember who ordered it on Netflix, but she spent three hours last night sobbing hysterically into a pillow because  _goddamn Fantine and Gavroche_ , and would rather not think about it. She opens it and quirks another brow in confusion and more than mild shock.

_SPOTTED: S and C in a tiff outside the illustrious The Rabbit Hole. Seems like C got a little too rambunctiously rowdy with some of S’s pint-sized pals. You know you love me, Storybrooke Sleuth._

Beneath the words there is a grainy photo of what could even be Henry with a pillow under his shirt, yelling at what appears to actually be David. Really grainy. Original iPhone model quality. And unfortunately doesn’t narrow down who this Storybrooke Sleuth could be because half of the people here still have flip phones, big hair, and electric typewriters.

 _Typewriters._ Wait.

She scrolls down.

_Uh oh, could Storybrooke be in for another curse? SPOTTED: R looking mighty curiously suspicious in the Storybrooke Cemetery late last night. Is she plotting something horribly nasty and disgustingly vile against her arch-nemesis S or is she in search of the proper christening gift for the baby on the way? Either way, smells like salt-water or fresh-water dwelling tailed and finned creatures to me. xoxo u kno u luv me, Storybrooke Sleuth 3333_

"What the hell is this?" she clicks on yet another super grainy photo of what is indeed Regina sneaking around in the dead of night. But that was really just for a weird game they were playing. Roleplay. Game. Kinky shit. Whatever. God damn it, Storybrooke Sleuth. At least he didn’t photograph Emma in that leather catsuit ten feet away. "This is like the  _worst_  Gossip Girl knockoff ever. And Gossip Girl was the worst Gossip Girl knockoff ever.”

Ruby shrugs and puts the iPad down on the counter. “It’s way more interesting than the town tumblr communities. The last time I checked they were comparing roasted pheasant recipes.”

Emma wrinkles her nose, remembering her foray into Enchanted Forest cuisine. She wasn’t even sure  _what_  she drank. It tasted like a combination of blackberries and cat piss. Not that she knows what cat piss tastes like, but yeah, it’d be  _that_  if she had to guess.

"He overuses adjectives." She says, eyeing a phrase with suspicion. She totally knows this writing style. Or more-so, lack of a writing style.

"What are you, an English major?" Ruby snarks and keeps scrolling.

"For a while I was." Emma says cryptically and takes another sip of her cocoa. Ruby blinks. Twice.

"Well, it’s this or pheasant," Ruby shrugs and keeps scrolling.

"At least the pheasant got right to the point."

Somewhere in the corner booth, August chokes on his coffee. His free trade brought from South America organic coffee.

—

Regina is not amused. Not even a little. This is almost as bad as the time Sydney fancied himself an advice columnist for The Daily Mirror.

"Have you seen?" Mother Gothel pokes her head into the office, iPhone in hand.

"Of course I’ve seen," Regina snaps, rubs her temples as Storybrook Sleuth’s home page glares up at her. "Do we have any ideas as to which village idiot is behind this slander?"

_SPOTTED: R having it out with E and S on Main St. Everyone’s favorite Grumpy Cat, R, had a lot to say when E left her car idling in a no parking zone for two hours this morning. S just had to jump in to defend her first-born, triggering a full blown exchange of unsavory name-calling. xoxo Storybrooke Sleuth_

"Not a clue," Gothel looks down at her own phone. "Shall I get the Sheriff on the line?"

"No," Regina shakes her head. "I’ll take care of that."

_OVERHEARD IN GRANNY’S DINER: our heroic E doesn’t seem to enjoy Storybrooke Sleuth like our loyal reader and sleuthing extraordinaire, our beloved other R. Poor E, doesn’t she know? Small towns, stories will travel. My professors called me delightfully inspired and dedicated. Doesn’t she appreciate excellent literature? xoxo Storybrooke Sleuth /3 (I am told that is what a broken heart looks like in text-speak.)_

She picks up her phone and ignores Emma’s most recent slew of emojis, something about fingers and holes. Followed by a slew of heart-eyed faces. At any other moment she’d have smiled at the hearts.

"Find me whomever is responsible for this unfortunate travesty." She gives Mother Gothel a curving smile, full of malice and treachery, and it’s returned in kind.

She’s glad she listened to Snow’s idea for starting a villains support group. And she’s even more elated that Gothel came to work for her. They do make quite a pair.

Not that she’d ever tell her in about twenty million years.

—

"Have you seen this new blog?" August corners her, literally corners her, as she’s coming out of the bathroom. It’s Friday night at The Rabbit Hole. Ladies night. Ladies drink for free. Free drinks.

"What new blog?" she’s sort of toasted already and Regina keeps texting her something about travesties and blatant invasion of privacy. Oh. Right. "Oh, you mean Storybrooke Sleuth."

"Yeah, Storybrooke Sleuth. Have you seen it?"

Emma shrugs, “I mean, I’ve glanced at it or something. Kind of busy. Sheriff stuff.”

August looks kind of disappointed at that.

"And the HTML coding is just awful," she adds, just for a good laugh at August’s face.

"I happen to think the HTML coding is really great. It keeps everything organized and easy to read," he turns on his heel and marches back out into the bar.

Well, that clears  _that_  up.

_—_

_To quote the velvety vocal stylings of my second favorite rapper, Nelly (Drake is my favorite) “It’s gettin’ hot in here, so hot.” SPOTTED: R and *gasp* E, meeting for a late night raunchy rendezvous in that weird crop-circle like clearing in the woods. I didn’t really follow them there, I just happened to be - do you want this gossip or not? Things were pretty hot and heavy, not that I know first hand, I only was there for a second. I mean. I wasn’t there at all. This was a tip. I received an anonymous tip._

There is a picture. High quality.  _Daily Mirror_  Quality. She purses her lips and glances at the phone. Fuck. Of Regina, pressed up against the bug in the middle of the woods. Bastard. And then there’s Emma, doing the pressing. And some other things. Lip things on Regina’s lips. At least it’s before Emma’s hand drifted to….other places. Decidedly Rated R places. Fuck.

_Fuckfuckfuck._

She runs a hand through her hair and leans against it.

In the back of her mind, Cora is reminding her to  _don’t swear, darling, it isn’t becoming for a lady._ Except she remembers some particularly colorful phrases coming from Cora’s mouth after someone spread the rumor that she had a powerful lady of the court in her bed. And both were wearing garters. Actually no, she doesn’t want to think about this ever again. What she wouldn’t  _give_ for knowing a memory spell when she heard those servants gossiping in the corridor.

She slams the iPhone down on her marble desk in true raging villain fashion. It feels good. She’s missed this part.

If it’s Sydney, she’s going to lock him up somewhere where the sun won’t even shine let alone register as  _existing._ And with rats. Lots and lots of rats.

—

"Dude, are those your  _moms_?”

Nick asks this from his position on the swivel chair. Henry looks up from his  _Alex Rider_  book and blinks several times as stories of M16 agents and drug cartels and flying through London fade from his mind’s eye. He sighs and puts the book down on his outer space sheets. He needs new sheets. Maybe Iron Man. These look like they could belong to Roland Hood, and like, Roland is six. Henry is thirteen. He’s a  _man_. Sort of.

He gives Nick a raised eyebrow. “Come again?”

Nick gestures enthusiastically to his MacBook and he looks kind of traumatized. “There’s this new blog, Storybrooke Sleuth. Ava linked it to me because it was sent to everyone above the age of sixteen.”

Henry frowns. “That’s lame. We’re not little kids.”

"No dude, I know  _why._ " He gestures again and Henry reluctantly leaves his comfortable position.

He wishes he didn’t, and is also glad he skipped lunch.

Those are his moms. Together. Lip-locked against the bug like in those rom coms mom thinks nobody knows about. Oh my god, where is his Ma’s hand? Is her other hand on his mom’s……? His eyes widen and he slams the MacBook shut. It doesn’t erase the image from his mind, and oh god, he’s going to have dinner with them tonight at Granny’s. How is he ever going to look them in the eye  _again?_  It’s not like he has a problem with them being together; they’re his moms, they spend time together anyway, they’re a  _family_  anyway, and they deserve love so much. And he’s suspected it for a while, so it’s not even that much of a surprise. He’s not some kind of bigoted asshole. No way. And he’s  _pretty_  sure Paige is gay, which is, whatever. He’ll get over it eventually. He’s not  _in love_  with her.

But he never ever  _ever_ , emphasis on the ever, wanted to see them like that. Ew. They’re his parents. He already has to deal with his grandparents acting like horny teenagers and that’s weird enough.

He gulps and finally notices that Nick’s been waving his hand back and forth across his vision.

"Earth to Mills, you alright?"

"Uh. Ask me that in five minutes. Or five years."

Nick gives a sympathetic nod and reaches over to hand him a small bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.

He eats them with a completely blank expression.

"Whoa, someone robbed a makeup store downtown."

"Was it Hook?"

Nick stares at him. “How’d you know?”

He shrugs. “He wears more eyeliner than my guitar teacher back in New York.”

—

"Daaaaaaaviiiiiiiiid?" a warbling shriek of panic hits his ears. He’s slowly going deaf.

"Is it the baby? Is the baby coming?" He comes running, skidding to a stop in front of the couch. "Is everything alright?"

Mary Margaret is flopped onto the couch, one foot on the coffee table, the other somewhere beneath it, and she’s got her iPad resting on her belly. “EVERYTHING IS NOT ALRIGHT.”

He winces, plugs one ear to no avail, “What’s wrong? Did I get the wrong ice cream? It was pishtacio-strawberry, right?”

"STORYBROOKE SLEUTH. PORN. EMMA. PORNSTAR. EMMA IS A PORNSTAR."

David joins her in her sputtering for a minute before he reaches for the iPad. “What do you mean Emma’s a -  _Oh_.”

And there it is. His baby girl, doing sex with an evil - no, no, a queen.  _High. Five._  Wait. Baby girl.

"We have to put a stop to it, we have to fix it, we have to - "

"Wait,  _this_  is Storybrooke Sleuth?” David starts scrolling through the blog and takes a seat on one of the armchairs.

_SPOTTED: C lurking near the Jolly Roger after midnight. Plotting the takedown of another wicked witch, or meeting for a wonderfully romantic late-night candlelit dinner in the Captain’s private quarters? ~wonk. xoxo Storybrooke Sleuth_

Oh no. This is not good. Not good at all. He should have been more discreet. Maybe borrowed Gold’s invisibility cloak. He has one, right?

He cradles the iPad to his chest and stumbles toward the door. “I, um, I need to go… talk to Emma. Yeah, talk to Emma.”

Where is Regina. Regina will fix this. Regina will teach him how to block Storybrooke Sleuth on all of their devices. All of them. Even the PDA no one’s used since the 90’s and early 2000’s that’s stuffed in the back of a box. He’s straight damnit. Okay, straight up bisexual. Close enough. He was  _going_  to tell her. Eventually. Maybe while she was on pain meds. No. That would be terrible. This is all terrible.

"Be back soon!" and the door slams behind him. And then he’s running out to the truck and speeding to Town Hall.


End file.
